


The Witches

by Khawapashi



Series: Lost Seasons [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Brother/Brother Incest, Castiel Does Not Understand (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Fuck Or Die, Helpful Rowena MacLeod, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Sam Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Top Sam Winchester, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khawapashi/pseuds/Khawapashi
Summary: Ah, the Winchesters. Never can stay out of trouble. There are witches, and Dean makes a stupid bet with a strange woman, Sam is surprisingly cool and has some talents his brother never wanted to know about, Rowena is as helpful as possible and Castiel is mostly confused. And then there's some incest and sexy times and no one dies, of course.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Lost Seasons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157024
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	1. In Which Dean Loses a Bet

**Author's Note:**

> *sneaks in, drops completed piece, pretends not to hear the desperate cries of unfinished works languishing*
> 
> So I watched all of Supernatural in like two weeks and then watched it again and uh... The subtext, right?
> 
> Anyway, you can find me on Twitter @khawapashi

It was a near death experience, but in their lives, what wasn't? Dean had been pinned by the witch's qucik " _manete!"_ and it was sheer dumb luck that Sam had come in from the other side and fired two rounds before the bastard could do anything else. They'd caught him just before he could complete the spell that would make the lonely town librarian his adoring wife, although he'd been able to throw his blood into the fire and chant a few hurried lines before Sam shot him again directly between the eyes.

Dean had only a fraction of a second to realize the witch had done something with his injured self other than die, and he shouted for Sam to get down while grabbing the poor captive woman by her bound wrists and pulling her down with him. A flash of vivid purple filled the rundown cabin, blinding them all, but when it was over, the witch was dead and the girl was safe and Sam and Dean were alive, so they called it a win and went to get a few beers.

The librarian chick, who had invited herself along by offering to buy them a few rounds, was clearly sweet on Sam, so while she held his brother's attention with a discussion of the best lightsabers in the Star Wars universe, Dean surveyed the rest of the bar she'd taken them to. It was a little hipster for Dean's taste, but it had a nice selection of craft beers and he had to admit it was nice to play on pool tables that were actually well-maintained for a change. He was racking up for a solo game when a dark-haired beauty offered to join him, and though she seemed a little rough around the edges, Dean Winchester was no one to judge, so he accepted and flirted back casually while they played.

"You with someone or something, baby?" She interrupted when he was glancing over to make sure his brother wasn't taking it too far with his impromptu date. "Cause you're sure intent on the booths back there."

"What?" Dean blinked stupidly for a second, and realized with a start he hadn't caught his partner's name. She cocked her head on her slender, tanned neck, and batted wide gray eyes at him.

"It's alright, we can keep it casual. I like a nice friendly game once in a while," she said with a knowing smile.

"I can be plenty friendly," Dean answered in his most charming tone, throwing a smoldering look her way as he leaned down to angle for a shot. "If you feel like giving me a try. I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure you can, but that boy over there can't keep his eyes off you. What happened, you two have a spat or something? You trying to make each other jealous?"

"What?" Dean looked up again to see Sam peering over the crowd, flashing him a quick smile before he turned back to the librarian. "No, no. We're not-" Dean choked, seeing their rescued girl's hand come to rest lightly over Sam's and feeling a surge of something dark and protective. He shook his head and laughed at the lady playing against him. "He's just my brother. We're uh, kind of close, I guess."

"You don't say." She looked between him and Sam and shrugged. "Okay, let's make a little wager. If I win, I get a kiss from your so-called brother. Think he'll mind?"

"He'll be pissed I made a bet like that without askin.'"

"Well, don't lose then."

Dean stared her down. _Cinda,_ his brain supplied suddenly. Not Cindy, but _Cind-a, with an 'a.'_ He grinned. 

"Okay, Cinda. If I win, do I get a kiss for myself instead?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Sounds like I win either way," Cinda winked.

  
  
  


Sam was having a much better night than he'd expected, and by much better, it meant the night had a good chance of an actual 'happy ending' as Dean would put it. Thank God - Chuck - whatever, that they'd been in time to stop the witch's plans, because it turned out Gemma was not just as beautiful and kind as the townspeople described her, she was also intelligent, well-educated, and thoroughly versed in lightsabers, Middle Earth, and theology.

"So, you know how at the end of _Return of the King_ , the Undying Land across the sea, there's this beautiful description of silver rain and white cliffs and a green land beyond -" she was saying in an excited tone, leaning forward just slightly into his space like her two cocktails had given her just the right amount if courage. Sam nodded, encouraging her to continue, but he couldn't help stealing a glance towards Dean, noting his brother seemed to have acquired some company for the night as well. "- anyway, it just seems so similar to Aslan's country in the _Chronicles of Narnia_ , and -"

"Tolkien and Lewis were good friends," Sam nodded, "it makes sense they'd have similar ideas about the afterlife."

"Right?! Oh my God," Gemma laid her hand over his, pretending to be casual but adorably obvious, and Sam caught her eyes and gave a shy smile. "I've never met anyone who's read both enough to understand my point. You are really cool, Sam. I don't… I'm sorry, I don't usually do this, but… Do you want to go somewhere quieter?"

"Gemma, I don't know if we'll be in town much longer, but -" he started, but she interrupted, misinterpreting him.

"Oh, wow, that sounded so pathetic, didn't it? Wow. I'm terrible at this, you know, I'm a… I'm a books person. But you knew that already," she laughed. "I promise I'm not just trying to rebound, I mean, I wasn't really dating Jonathan despite what he said, but it was just a weird night and I thought -"

"Hey," Sam gently turned his hand over, closing his fingers lightly over her much smaller ones. "You're fine, really. And I think you're pretty cool, too, I just don't want to give you the wrong impression… Dean and I, we kind of move around a lot for work, and -"

"Oh! You're - you two are -" she glanced up towards Dean, then back at him. "I'm sorry, when I heard you had the same last name I assumed you were family or something. I would never hit on a married man, I swear."

"What? No, no, we're not -" They were interrupted by a tap on Sam's shoulder that he instinctively knew to be Dean, and he turned to find his brother and the black leather-clad woman he had been playing pool with standing right there. His brother looked like he'd just dumped bleach over Sam's favorite shirt, not quite meeting his eyes though his hand shifted to grip Sam's upper arm firmly.

"Sorry Sammy, but I lost a bet and you know me. I don't back down jus' because I don't like the outcome," Dean sounded irritated, like Sam had done something to offend him personally instead of just sitting half the bar away, trying to negotiate a one night stand.

"You _lost_?" He asked incredulously. "You actually lost at pool?"

"Yeah, I know, but Cinda here's another hustler. Took me too long to realize it." Again, Dean looked rueful and apologetic. "So, uhh, anyway, we made some bets and now I gotta pay up. I mean, we gotta pay up."

"That's right, big boy," the raven-haired Cinda leaned against the side of the bar opposite Sam, so he found himself hemmed in by the two women with his back to the wooden surface and Dean directly in front of him. She had a dark, smug look in her eyes that Sam did not like. "Your boyfriend here promised me a kiss."

"Uh, okay," Sam scowled, but fine, he would kiss this woman and kick Dean's ass for it later, he just suddenly really wanted to get the hell out of the bar and back to the safety of the Impala. His eyes searched out Dean's and finally found them, wide and slightly glassy from a few celebratory shots of whiskey. "That's okay, I guess."

"So he _is_ your husband," Gemma snorted helpfully. "I'm such an idiot."

"What? No, he's not -"

"Shut up, Sammy. I made this vicious shark a bet, and we're gonna pay up and then get the hell out of here. Capisce?"

"Ok -" Dean pushed into his space suddenly, tipping his head back slightly to make up for their height, and it finally clicked in his head that Sam wasn't expected to kiss Cinda. "Um, Dean?" He tried plaintively, unconscious of his own tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "What -"

"Shh, just shuddup," Dean whispered against his mouth, and then he surged upward and for some reason Sam bent down and _oh, fuck_ -

\- the lips beneath his were soft, Dean's breath surprisingly sweet, although the warm tongue that brushed against his tasted faintly of whiskey, and it was good, it was _so good_ Sam wanted more, leaned forward into it, chasing that teasing ghost of tongue and -

"What the _fuck?_!" Dean growled, at the same time Sam hissed "Jesus, no!"

Then they just stood there, shoulders heaving as they caught their breath, Dean's eyes roving just as wildly as Sam felt his own moving, trying to make sense of the surge of feelings flooding through him. Because kissing Dean was not supposed to be good. That was his _brother_ , it wasn't supposed to be anything like good, it was supposed to be one of those thoughts he used to calm an inconvenient erection, like Crowley naked on a rainy day, Bobby in the bathtub, Mom and Dad in the backseat of the Impala…

Well, those thoughts did the trick at least. Long enough for Sam to get his head together, understand that something had gone completely, incredibly wrong, grab Dean by the arm and start shoving their way to the door. He heard Cinda giggling and had just enough presence of mind to know that there was something decidedly _off_ going on there, but it was taking all of his concentration to steer them outside.

Once the cool night air hit, Dean seemed to regain some of his senses, though he was still mumbling "what the hell" under his breath while obviously licking his lips like he was trying to remember Sam's taste. They didn't have time to argue, Sam needed to get them out of public and alone, and that meant no arguments about who was driving, so he opened up the driver's side door and shoved Dean over along the bench seat, ignoring his brother's complaints and definitely _not_ looking at the bulge in his jeans.

"Sammy, lemme do it," Dean pleaded, and he jumped when his brother's hand landed hard on his upper thigh. "Please, I just wanna -"

"Whatever you're thinking about, the answer is 'no,'" Sam said flatly. "We're going back to the motel and we're calling Rowena."

"I just wanna -" Dean stopped himself, cut off with a cough and shook his head, then gave Sam a horrified stare. "Jesus."

"Yeah," was Sam's only reply as he put the car in drive and got them out of there. Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, the motel they were staying at wasn't far, just a couple miles down the road, and after his freak out in the parking lot Dean had removed his hand from Sam's thigh, so at least he could drive comfortably.

"Sam, I dunno if it's a good idea for you to be alone with me right now," his brother protested after a minute.

Sam scoffed. Of course, Dean would take it all on himself, as if Sam was an infant or a virgin, and wasn't suffering under the exact same unnatural compulsions.

"No, Sammy, listen, I wanna - I mean, I don't _want_ to wanna, but -"

"You want to fuck me," Sam said plainly, letting himself smirk at his brother's disgusted flinch. "Use your words, Dean. I want to fuck you, too. But we're not going to, because we know what this is, and we can fight it."

"I hate witches," Dean growled, clenching his fists on his thighs, face set grimly as Sam parked the car and took out his phone. "I hated them before, but now I really, really hate them."

"Yep," Sam agreed, while waiting for the call to pick up. "Here," he said as soon as he heard Rowena's measured Scottish drawl. "Tell her what's going on while I dig through some books."

  
  
  
  


Three hours later, the flame-haired witch was sitting at the tiny kitchenette in their room, shaking her head sadly as a pair of matching sigils on their bared chests sputtered and faded in puffs of violet clouds.

"I don't know what to tell ye, boys," she waved her hands and the painted markings on their skin faded away. Rowena's bright eyes were somber and her face saddened, and Sam knew they were truly screwed. "The magic's already been set. Sealed with a kiss, aye, I know," she cocked her head at Dean's cough. "You had no way of knowin' it seems."

"So what's the damage?" Dean barked as he pulled on his shirt. "Are we gonna be…" his eyes drifted to Sam's chest, then curtly turned away, never quite meeting his eyes. He waved a hand between them. "You know, horny like this forever now?"

"Oh no, dear, I'm afraid it's much worse," she gave them both what might have been compassionate looks, if Rowena was the type to feel compassion. "You've got approximately twenty-four hours of this, and if you fail to… to consummate your feelings in the proper way, you'll both die what sounds like a very painful death."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, though not at either of them, and contained his anger enough to kick a chair instead of putting his fist through the wall.

"Rowena," Sam's chest felt so tight he thought he might suffocate, but he had to be reasonable about this, because Dean certainly wouldn't be. "Do you know of anything, anyone, that could help? Give us an extension to find a cure, or - or wipe our memories after, or something?"

"Well, Samuel, I would think your pet angel could help you with that, although it wouldn't do you much good, he'd have to keep erasing it every time you -" 

Now Dean did punch the wall,and she flinched slightly, though she didn't seem too alarmed. It was an understandable reaction. Sam wanted to punch something too, preferably Cinda if he had his choice, since he was pretty sure she was the culprit, though why she would be out for them specifically he wasn't sure. It probably had something to do with Jonathan, the witch they'd killed.

"The witch we killed, he was using a spell to bind Gemma to him, he said they'd be together for life and she would want it," Sam said, mostly to organize his thoughts since they kept getting sidetracked by fantasies of himself and Dean doing things you very much should not want to do with your brother, even though right now, Sam very much did want to do them. "Is it the same spell that was used on us? Can you tell us how it works?"

"Well essentially it does exactly what it says," Rowena sighed, tapping her fingers on the page of the ancient book in front of her. "You can't really manufacture love, of course, but with the right spell you can create loyalty and lust, and for the sort of witches who cast this kind of spell, that'd be close enough. Of course, when you have real love between a couple, it's not so much a curse as a sort of… well, a marriage ritual."

"Oh, great," Dean snarked, turning away from the wall he was busy glowering at after he'd thrown his fist through it a few times. "We're witch-married, Sammy."

"Yeah, I got that." Rowena gave him a sympathetic look and suddenly he really wanted her gone. They didn't need an audience for the fight they were about to have. He smiled his best _excuse-my-brother-he's-an-idiot_ smile and asked again. "So, if we have to do this, is there anything you know of that might make it… I don't know. Easier? Can you make us look like someone else?"

"I cannot make ye a Polyjuice Potion, unfortunately, as this is the real world and I'm not Harry Potter," she frowned, then rummaged through the large leather bag she'd brought in, setting two small glass bottles out onto the table, followed by a larger bottle of what Sam recognized as top shelf scotch. “Now, this one is for… let’s call it stamina... and this is a blend of sweet almond and other body-safe oils I craft for myself, I’m sure you can figure out what that’s for, and this last is…”

“Very expensive,” Dean commented. Rowena shrugged.

“Consider it a gift, a sort of sympathy card for your misfortune, if you will,” she glanced up at him, then Sam, then closed her bag and put on her designer jacket. “Now I’ll leave you boys alone to decide your fate.”

“Thanks,” Dean snorted, looking murderous. 

Sam took the witch’s elbow and guided her to the door before his brother could say anything stupid, and she squeezed his arm with genuine sympathy.

“I truly do have a fondness for you two, Samuel,” she blinked up at him, eyes still deeply troubled. “I do hope you can… Well, I hope you find a way to do what needs to be done consensually, and don’t get it into your fool heads that dying is the better choice.”

“Thanks, Rowena,” was all Sam could offer, reeling on the inside just as much as Dean was, even if he was slightly better at containing it. “I mean it, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, of course,” she gave a rare, genuine smile, sniffing delicately. “Don’t worry about helping me to my car now, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. You need to take care of that big oaf in there, before he does something even more foolish.”

Sam returned her smile, if faintly, and let out a puff of laughter as he closed the door, pausing to rest his head against the cool painted wood before he had to face Dean. Incest or suicide, what a fucking choice. And both of them mortal sins. He supposed they’d better consult Cas, just in case he had any ideas that Rowena hadn’t.


	2. In Which Sam Is Very Good At Sex, Actually

Castiel stared at Dean with his usual inscrutable expression, although his eyes were wide and very blue. Dean almost felt guilty for roping him into this, like he’d accidentally slept with a girl as a casual thing only to find out later that she was a virgin and sang in the church choir. 

Ah, well. Been there, done that. The angel was eons old. Surely a little something like incest wasn’t an entirely new concept to him when humans had been doing it for all of… time. Still, there was a difference between Biblical figures from the distant past and the two brothers he’d gotten to know and think of as family. Suddenly Dean really didn’t  _ want _ to know what Castiel was thinking or feeling.

“I don’t understand,” he said finally, eyes going from Dean to Sam, where they sat on the ends of their respective beds. “Did you want me here to… oversee?”

“What?” Sam asked, at the same time Dean blurted out, “No, of course not!”

Slowly, so slowly Dean thought he could feel every minute muscle of his body twitch separately with the movement, he turned his head towards Sam and found his brother staring back, eyes wide and slightly wild.

“Dean,” his brother said his name in the tone he loved the most, not angry or irritated, but just… thoughtful. Fond. Friendly, like the close, know all of each other’s secrets and love each other anyway kind of friendly, and something in Dean snapped. He couldn’t let his brother just  _ die _ , not over this, not if he could just lie down and bite a pillow and close his eyes and -

“Sammy, I don’t want you to die,” he blurted out, mouth moving ahead of his thoughts, again.

“I can see this is causing you both great turmoil,” Cas observed, his eyes stilling on Sam, who had tensed up with his jaw set like he was about to piss Dean off, knew he was gonna, and was determined to do it anyway. “I can only assume that, regardless of the consequences being death, neither of you want this.”

“Understatement of the year,” Sam laughed.

“But, forgive me, Sam, I know it’s an invasion of privacy, I couldn’t help it in this case - you do  _ seem _ like you want it. Physically, I mean. Your heart beats faster when Dean says your name, and you keep looking at his mouth when he’s talking, and you, Dean -” His eyes shifted back with a laser focus, “- your thoughts are so filled with pornogaphic imagery, I can’t help but notice, and it all seems to involve Sam… though some of those things I think are physically impossible -”

“Cas, not helping,” Dean cut him off. “What we wanna know is if you can break the witch’s spell or… or do anything to stop us from dying if we don’t, ya know…” he made a gesture, which the angel thankfully seemed to follow for once.

“Oh, I see. No, Dean, there’s nothing I can think of, Rowena was right. When a witch gives their life’s energy into a spell like that, it can’t be countered short of… Interference from the highest level. God, or Amara could break it. Perhaps Michael or Lucifer at the height of their power, but not me, nor any other angel I know of,” he shook his head. “I don’t understand why, though.”

“Why what?” Sam asked.

“Why you both seem to think this is a fate worth dying to avoid. Of course I realize that in some cultures that kind of relationship is considered morally wrong, but in all the course of human history, that taboo has never been the same,” he looked thoughtful, eyes cast somewhere far away. “I once knew a Khan who had taken all of his sisters as his wives. They were very happy. There were a lot of children, I think -”

“Okay, okay, Cas, we get it. Incest, not a big deal for you,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, and all Dean could think of was how it would feel when he got his own fingers into. Would Sam moan and shudder as he slowly stroked his fingernails across his scalp? If Dean grabbed a hold of it and pulled, yanking his head down to kiss him, would Sam let him? Did he like to have his hair pulled on? Because Dean would, he would  _ love _ to pull Sam’s hair, let it slide between his fingers and hold his head tight, guide him as he got on his knees and -

“ _ Dean! _ ” Sam barked, and this time he sounded annoyed. “Focus.”

“Oh, right.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and hoped, probably in vain, that all of that hadn’t been completely readable to Cas. He couldn’t even manage to look at the angel to see if it had. “So, Rowena couldn’t reverse it, Cas has bupkis, what else we got, Sammy?”

“I mean, we could put out some calls, I guess, but chances of finding anything in the next…” Sam glanced at the cheap motel clock between the beds, “Eighteen hours? I don’t think there is another answer, Dean, not in time for us to find it. Maybe if we had weeks or months, but…”

“Yeah, I got it.” This time Dean finally did turn to face the angel. “Cas. Is there anyway you could put one of us to sleep and we could -”

“What the fuck, Dean? No!” Sam burst out before Cas could even answer. He was on his feet suddenly, bending over with one huge hand nearly crushing Dean’s jaw in order to force him to meet those familiar foggy gray eyes. “I am not going to fucking  _ rape  _ you, and I don’t want you doing it to me. If we do this, we do it awake. Both of us. Together.”

“Sammy. I can’t.” He shook his head, determined to yank free of his brother’s grip, because Sam’s eyes were growing dark, and just that and the skin-to-skin contact of his hand on Dean’s face was enough to make his pants grow tight, and that was too much, too soon. “I can’t… Can’t fuck you. Never. You’re my baby brother, I raised you, I took care of you -”

“Okay,” Sam sighed and let go of his face, finally. “Then I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you,” Sam said flatly, still holding his eyes though there was a distinct flush rising in his cheeks. “I can do it without it hurting, I’ve done it before, I know what I’m doing, so if you won’t then I will.”

“You’re gonna top me?” Dean swallowed, because his voice came out as more of a squeak than he wanted it to, and then something in his brain figured out what ‘top’ meant, and what Sam had said about doing it before, and he had a mini freak out. “You’ve had sex before. With guys.”

Sam shrugged.

“How come you never told me? I didn’t know you were gay, all this time, and you never fuckin’ told me? After everything we’ve been through? Did you think I would -”

“Freak out? Look at me differently? Treat me like a girl?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Kinda, yeah. Also, I’m not gay. I’m not anything, I just… I like who I like. Gender isn’t really important.”

“Gender isn’t important,” Dean repeated, scoffing. “Did Amelia know that? Or Jessica?”

“Fuck you, Dean, that’s low, even for you,” Sam snarled at him, pushed him hard, and Dean let himself fall back on the bed, waiting, inviting.

“Oh? What about you, Sammy? You let any of these… other gendered-people… fuck you? Let them take you like a fucking bitch -”

“You can take it like a fucking bitch, Dean!” Sam prowled around him while Dean remained prone, snarling and stomping and pissed off, just the way Dean needed him to be. “Fuck it,” he growled, turning from Dean a very shocked and uncomfortable-looking Cas, who was making eyes at the door. “Go ahead, Cas. If Dean wants to be a coward, let him. Put him out.”

“Sam, I don’t think that’s a very good idea -”

“We will  _ die _ if we don’t,” Sam hissed. 

There was real anger there, bubbling up from the darkness in his soul that Sam did a fantastic job of hiding, but Dean knew it was still there. He’d seen it in his brother’s eyes when he himself was in mortal danger from some monster, when Michael was in Dean’s body, when those British bastards killed the American hunters. He knew it was there and he needed it now, because it was the only way this was gonna happen. They didn’t do slow and sweet, they fought or they laughed or they sparred, but when Sam and Dean were at their closest, when their bond was as strong and solid as it had ever been, they were  _ active _ , either in mortal danger or gut-punching loss and the rage that followed it.

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed, unlacing his shoes, and Cas walked between them, cutting off Dean’s vision for a moment before he looked up, into troubled blue eyes as the angel touched two fingers to his forehead.

“Don’t make me do this, Dean. You know what it’ll do to your brother.”

“My brother… is gonna die if you don’t,” Dean rasped, meeting Cas’ eyes apologetically. “I’m sorry you have to be a part of this, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“I know,” Cas answered somberly, “And I’m begging you to reconsider. Sam might survive - you’ll both survive - but at what cost?”

“Doesn’t matter. Sam does what he has to, I wake up sore and don’t remember shit, and we both go on living our lives,” he shrugged. “Find a cure for this… witch marriage… before it tears us apart.”

Cas sighed, shaking his head. “This already will, but I can see you aren’t going to change your mind.”

And that was all, a gentle surge of power through his mind and Dean was out like a light, without even dreams.

When he came back to, he was almost naked, in only his underwear and a t-shirt, his lower half under the folded back covers, and Sam was sitting on his heels facing him, also undressed down to his plain gray boxer-briefs and, weirdly, his socks. Dean blinked several times, then shifted in the bed, trying to figure out if he felt any different. He certainly didn’t  _ feel _ like anything had happened - other than his clothes being removed - and he eyed Sam suspiciously while his brother watched him in turn.

“Sammy?”

“I couldn’t, Dean, I’m sorry. I thought I - I was pissed at you, and I was gonna do it, but Cas looked at me when he left like I was some kind of monster and I…” he sighed and lowered his gaze, idly picking at the bedsheets between them. “I asked him how long it would take for you to wake up and he said an hour, so I just… Got us more comfortable and… waited.”

“God, Sam,” Dean threw his head back on the pillow, unable to look anymore at his brother’s nearly-naked form, one that he’d seen a million times and only now was realizing was truly gorgeous. He’d never thought about it before, they were both in peak physical form, it was necessary for their job, but Sam was so… “Extra.”

“What?”

“You. You’re extra. Look at you. I guess all that green sludge pays off, huh?” Dean laughed, both at his own joke and the fact that he’d somehow gone straight through awkward and was now flirting with his brother like he’d been doing it for years. “And the socks, Sammy? Really?”

“My feet get cold,” Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a smile there, trying to edge its way onto his face. “And I’m not the one wearing boxers with playing cards on them.”

“Hey, I like this pair! Gotta have some fun sometimes, you should try it. I’ve even heard it’s good for you.”

Sam shrugged, neither arguing nor agreeing, and then he climbed off the bed and went to get the bottles Rowena had left them, most importantly the scotch. He handed the alcohol to Dean while the other two bottles disappeared over on his side of the bed, and Dean pretended to ignore that while he carefully unwrapped and opened the bottle with the reverence it deserved.

“Glasses?” He asked Sam, who gave him an uncertain frown.

“There’s the plastic ones that come with the ice bucket.”

Dean shuddered. “Sammy, I know I raised you better than that. You don’t drink a hundred-year-old scotch out of plastic motel cups.”

“I guess we drink it from the bottle then,” his brother shrugged. “I mean, if we’re still gonna do this, we can probably finish off the whole thing.”

“I dunno, Sam, my thing ain’t as durable as it used to be, I don’t wanna disappoint you.” Dean followed this sentence with a long swallow, barely pausing to appreciate the aged, smokey flavor, in favor of getting as much of it into his stomach as possible before he lost his nerve.

“There’s that other bottle Rowena left us,” Sam pointed out, accepting the scotch and taking a healthy swallow of his own.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and they were quiet for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth, slowly sipping away at the contents and soaking in the courage it offered.

“How much time do we have left?” Dean asked eventually, turning to see Sam on his side, facing him with his head propped up on one hand. He realized he hadn’t passed the bottle to his brother for the last two or three sips, but that made sense. Sam wasn’t a heavy drinker, most of the time, and he was the one who was supposed to be running the show tonight, they’d agreed on that before Dean made Castiel put him to sleep.

“You were asleep for about an hour, it’s been thirty minutes since you woke up, so I’d say… sixteen and a half hours, give or take,” Sam answered, his eyes dark and almost hungry as he watched Dean take another sip and then replace the cork, setting the bottle carefully down on the table between the beds.

“Alright, Sammy. You’re the one with experience. I know you got a plan, you always got a plan. What do you wanna do?”

“Well, first I want to suck you off.” Sam said it so matter-of-factly Dean was nodding before he fully processed what he was agreeing to. Then he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cheap wooden headboard of the bed. “Dean?” Sam prompted, and he waved a hand vaguely for his brother to go on.

“Then what?”

“Then I’m gonna use the oil Rowena gave us and… Uhhh,” Sam coughed, a sure sign he was nervous and probably scared, which made Dean open his eyes and reach out to touch his hand, lying restlessly on top of his brother’s hip, to reassure him.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam sat up, shaking his head, and Dean could see there were unshed tears in his eyes, making them bright in the dim motel light. There was a faint glow under the window curtains, which Sam had drawn tightly closed, and Dean had the feeling it was early morning, his least favorite time of day.

And Sammy was crying.

“Shh, Sam, come here.” He tugged on his brother’s wrist and Sam came willingly, sliding closer on the bed until they were touching almost everywhere from hip to shoulder, and he didn’t protest when Dean turned to his side to face him and pulled his brother into a tight hug. Without being conscious of doing it, Dean kissed gently along his shoulder and neck - simple, soft kisses, meant to soothe and show affection, but definitely not something you did to your brother.

He froze, but Sam’s arm crushed him closer, his face pressed into Dean’s neck, heaving puffs of damp, hot air against the sensitive skin there, and before he knew it, Dean’s whole body was not just awake, but violently awake and pulsing with arousal. Since Sam didn’t protest, he went back to kissing his brother’s neck, unable to resist letting his tongue slip out to taste the warm, smooth skin, and Sam’s breath changed to heated pants, his hands closing around Dean’s shoulders and rolling them over. Strong hips pressed Dean down into the bed, and now he was moaning, his own breath coming in harsh gasps as Sam lapped at the hollow of his throat and bit gently at his Adam’s apple, the sides of his neck, his ear lobes -  _ fuck _ \- Sam was good at sex, and that wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to know, but now that he did, Dean had no idea how he was supposed to forget it.

His brother moved slowly downward, sliding one knee between Dean’s legs, and Dean immediately spread them wide and inviting, shuddering with want and need and -

“Fuck, Sammy, fuck,” he couldn’t catch his breath, arched his back to gulp in air while Sam’s mouth moved over his chest, hot, wet tongue darting out to taste his nipples, the barest ghost of teeth on each one before he moved again to dip it down into Dean’s navel.

Dean lifted his hand, drove his fingers into Sam’s hair, and hung on like he didn’t dare let go, like his grip on the soft locks was the only thing keeping him from losing his entire goddamn mind.

And then Sam moaned and leaned down, making Dean tighten his grip, which only served to evoke even more fantastic sounds from his little brother, and Dean really was lost.

“You like that? Want me to pull on it?” He whispered seductively, like he would with any lover, the fact that this was his beloved brother only serving to make him more fond, more attentive, more interested in satisfying rather than just being satisfied himself.

“Harder,” Sam rasped and Dean obeyed, tugging downwards, directing Sam to the hard and ready length of his cock, tenting the dark fabric of his boxers. Sam’s fingers danced under the waistband, and Dean lifted himself instinctively, letting his brother quickly drag them off, removing his shirt as well and leaving himself completely bare under his brother’s eager scrutiny. 

“Dean,” Sam half-moaned, half-growled, his voice already husky and dark as he caressed Dean’s length with his gaze alone. “Please, can I?”

“Yeah,” Dean tugged him down eagerly. “Suck on it, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t even hesitate, he just dove right down, lapping long, hot streaks up and down, getting him good and wet before he rose up on his knees further and slipped his mouth around the head. If Sam’s hands hadn’t sneakily found his hips to hold him down, Dean would have unconsciously bucked upwards into that wet velvet heat, it felt good,  _ too _ good, better than anything he’d ever experienced before. He didn’t have time to wonder if that was the spell, or just Sam, or some weird dark desire Dean had buried down deep his whole life. Sam’s mouth was amazing, and he wanted all of it, right now. But he didn’t want to hurt his brother, so he satisfied himself with just tugging insistently at Sam’s hair.

Sam seemed to get the message, he drew back and moistened his lips and then dove back down, taking Dean much deeper, keeping it wet and slick and hot, so fucking hot. Sam’s head down there, between his legs, his little moans as if he was enjoying this too, his chest rising and falling unsteadily as he tried to breathe through his nose and suck Dean to the back of his throat, swallowing reflexively, eyes wet and watering with the effort.

“God, Sam… yeah, that’s it, nice and deep… you can take it all, baby…” 

There was a moment where Sam paused, moving one hand away from Dean’s hips, and if he’d been thinking clearly, he would have known what to expect, but the movement and pressure on his cock felt so good, Dean’s mind was blank, absolutely blank. In fact, he didn’t notice the finger massaging him until it pressed inside, slick with Sam’s spit, and then he didn’t care, he wanted it, he wanted whatever Sam had to give him.

Just like that, Dean let the spell take over. It was easy, and he trusted his brother, and wasn’t Sam already making him feel so incredibly good?

If he wasn’t careful, Dean was going to come down his throat, and while that would be ideal for Dean, he knew better than to be that inconsiderate, especially to Sam. He let go of his tight grip on Sam’s hair, letting his brother draw back to a more comfortable angle, and just pet his head instead, still marvelling at the softness of that perfect princess hair that Dean was never going to tease him about ever again.

“S’mmy, I’m gonna c’m, baby, you gotta move if you don’ wanna… swallow…” He trailed off because Sam was looking up at him and nodding, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears, but the pupils were wide and dark and he was lapping steadily at the underside of Dean’s cock, almost like he was begging for it. “Fuck!”

Sam’s finger stroked inside of him, and he didn’t care, he was so close, and that intrusion almost felt good now - different, but good - along with Sam’s mouth on him, it pulled him into a climax faster than he had time to brace for, and he shouted and jerked hard, every muscle seizing and then falling limp, wrapped so completely in pure pleasure he barely recognized the voice calling his name as he came down.

“Sammy, Jesus,” Dean mumbled finally, noting Sam’s face was peering intently down at him with a smug little grin that he maybe - okay, absolutely - deserved. “Where did you learn to - Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

“Gonna find my highschool boyfriend and kill him, Dean?”

“Maybe,” Dean blinked. “Wait, highschool? Who the fuck -”

“You said you didn’t want to know.”

“Well maybe I changed my mind! What year of highschool? Were you -” Dean felt something, and realized with a start that Sam’s finger was still buried deep inside him, and not only that, he was doing something with it that felt like another mini-orgasm all by itself, successfully redirecting his enfeebled brain. “Ahh, oh!”

“Like that?” His brother looked smug again, and Dean couldn’t help but resist, at least a little.

“Kinda. Still feels like a finger in my ass,” he tried to shrug, but the movement brushed that place inside against his brother’s wriggling digit and he gasped instead. Fuck, that felt good, he didn’t even care who was causing it or how it happened, that sensation was one of the best things Dean had ever felt in his life. “Oh, God. That’s… is that -”

“Prostate,” Sam answered before he could finish the question. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Dean sighed, letting go of his pride. He liked sex a lot, and good sex was enough of a reason to forego a little pride if it made things better. This kind of mind-blowing, magically-enhanced sex with his brother was going to be kryptonite to his pride, Dean could aleady tell. “So are you gonna, you know… Go on with it?”

“Soon. I want to try something else first.”

“Sammy, I think one first is enough for the night -”

“I want to use my tongue on you. Where my finger is,” Sam clarified, seeing Dean’s confused look.

“Fuck, Sam. You really explored those college years, didn't you?”

“Is that a ‘yes’ or ‘no?’”


	3. Obviously, Sex Happens And Nobody Dies

It turned out to be a yes, once Sam gave Dean time to go into the bathroom and make sure he was as squeaky clean as possible.

When he came out, his big brother was naked and wet, having taken the quickest shower known to man, and while Sam had seen him naked on the bed and watched and admired his hind end and muscular thighs going in, he was not prepared for the sight of Dean  _ wet _ . He licked his lips, letting his eyes feast all over where droplets of water traced the lines and contours of Dean’s body and wished he could follow them with his tongue.

“Close your mouth, Sammy, you’re drooling.”

Sam was not drooling, but he forced himself to dial it back some. Which was difficult, given that Dean immediately crawled under the covers with him, wet and warm body pressed up against Sam’s. He made a noise of surprise as Dean persistently climbed on top of him, but was silenced by his brother’s lips descending to meet his, also warm and wet and even softer than Sam remembered. Dean’s tongue traced over his bottom lip, and he sucked it gently into his mouth before pressing Sam to open up to him and let him trace every inch with a rising urgency. Sam moaned and responded as best he could, though Dean was clearly of the opinion that he was dominating this kiss and Sam was inclined to let him. He swept his hands up and down Dean’s wet body, asserting himself that way instead, while Dean hungrily devoured his mouth, nibbling at his lip and shoving his tongue in so deep that Sam instinctively sucked at it.

Eventually, they had to breathe, but they parted with reluctance, and Dean immediately fell onto Sam’s neck instead, biting and nipping harder and harder, sucking up little bruises with his mouth and tongue, until Sam put a hand on the back of his neck and stopped him.

“How did you know?”

“What?”

“You pulled my hair, now you’re biting me like you mean it to hurt…” Sam held his brother’s eyes, intent to get an answer. “I want to know. Are we just into the same things, or…?”

Dean grinned, actually grinned, for once looking like he wasn’t planning to march to the gallows when all was said and done. “Dunno, Sammy, lucky guesses?”

“Seriously?”

“I might have found a folder on your laptop titled ‘term papers’ and skimmed it,” Dean admitted. “Nice camouflage, by the way.”

“And you didn’t say anything? Dean, you’ve been trying to figure out if I watch porn since we were teenagers,” Sam chuckled. “At least I don’t keep VHS tapes and a VCR under my bed. But if you found my stash, why were you so shocked when you found out that I...” 

“Like dudes?” Dean smirked. “Like I said, I skimmed it. Hard to tell what’s even going on with all that… hardware. Some of it looked pretty intense, Sam.”

Sam felt himself flushing and shook his head, squeezing his hands over Dean’s hips to remind him of what they were doing. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Just, one thing, please? Is it the tying you like, or the being tied up?” Dean was looking at him like he expected a serious answer this time, and Sam took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. He really did not want to have this discussion right now, when it was driving so many images into his head and Dean was right there, naked and potentially willing.

And determined to get an answer.

“Both,” he breathed, counting to three before he opened his eyes and faced his brother again. “Okay? It’s both. But not right now.”

“Huh. Yeah, okay.” Dean seemed to take a moment to file that away, then he wiggled his ass, and made as if to swap their positions. “So you wanna…?”

“Just relax. I won’t do anything without telling you first, okay?” He promised as his brother settled onto his stomach, knees bent and spread slightly but not uncomfortably wide beneath him. 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answered hoarsely. “I trust you. Just no tying me up, you got that? S’too dangerous, we aren’t safe enough here.”

He was glad he couldn’t see his brother’s eyes right then, because Sam was positive he had a look on his face that would give him away completely.  _ Not safe enough here? _ His mind was already racing to the dungeon in the bunker, with all its hooks and manacles, and the particular supplies he kept in a tattered backpack shoved to the wall under his bed...

With those helpful images running through his head, Sam wanted to dive right in, because the faster he got Dean relaxed and loose enough, the sooner he could finally push himself inside his brother and feel him squirming and groaning with pleasure underneath him, and.. And they wouldn't have the threat of eminent death hanging over them, of course. But he had concluded a while ago - just after Cas knocked his brother unconscious, actually - that he could never bring himself to actually hurt Dean. Not on purpose, when he didn’t want it or ask for it, at least, and Sam knew he could do better, make this a pleasurable memory for Dean and not just something to be swept under the rug like they could just go on afterwards and pretend. They’d already crossed that bridge, Sam knew what it  _ tasted _ like, the salt and piney scent of Dean’s skin, the bitter flood of his come, his tongue filling Sam’s mouth like he owned it...

He didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. Screw finding a cure. All he needed was for Dean to want it too, and Jesus, they could be happy, they could make each other really, truly happy, and they fucking deserved that. Sure, in the eyes of society it was judged as wrong, and there would always be a little shame associated with the possibility of other people finding out he was fucking his brother, but Sam wasn’t letting it go without a fight.

So he poured all of his love and affection for his brother into the something else it had become thanks to the witch's spell, and treated Dean the way he knew Dean would treat him if their situations were reversed.

"I'm just going to kiss and touch right now," Sam murmured as he settled himself behind Dean's body and gently stroked his thumbs over the base of his neck, massaging until his brother sighed and some of the tension in his shoulders seeped away. He scraped his nails up into Dean’s scalp, scratching pleasantly and placing kisses all over the back of his neck, his shoulders, behind his ears, until Dean was moaning and lifting into it, arching his neck for more without a second’s hesitation.

Sam could have gone on like that for hours, just running his fingers through Dean’s short hair, massaging and kissing until his brother was wrecked and breathless and begging for it. But they had a time limit, as Dean reluctantly reminded him.

“Sam - C’mon, Sammy - we gotta - I want -” he arched his back, shifting to rub his ass right up against Sam’s aching cock. “I want it, Sammy. Want you to - be inside me.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Sam hissed against his neck, holding himself very still against the temptation to just rut up against him, come between his cheeks or thighs, and work on penetration later. Maybe he could talk Dean into fucking him, now that they were both over the hurdle of  _ wrongness _ \- but that wasn’t fair. His brother wanted it this way for reasons, reasons Sam understood even if he didn’t agree with them, and he’d said he would do it.

When he could control himself again, he slid his hands up and down Dean's spine, fingers counting out each vertebra, followed by a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on each one. Dean was trembling by the time he got down to the very base of it, and he let out a shuddering gasp when Sam very lightly dipped his tongue into the divot where his cleft began.

"Sam?" Dean asked a little hesitantly, like he was checking to make sure everything was going according to plan. Sam let himself finally get a solid hold on that tight, round ass, kneading a cheek in each of his hands.

"Still just touching, Dean," he promised. "And kissing," he added, dropping his head to press his lips where his hands were, tasting the soft, slightly fuzzy skin there. He moved on to kiss underneath, where Dean's thighs met his ass, licking and sucking at the hidden, tender flesh and relishing his brother's gasping breaths and groans of pleasure. He was close now, Sam thought, and with a little more effort he could have his brother coming untouched with just his tongue and fingers.

“Okay, Dean? Ready for more?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice grated on a low groan. “Do it.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He raised his hands again to gently spread his brother open, then licked firmly from behind his sac all the way back up.

Dean made a high-pitched noise that Sam would definitely not call a scream - not out loud, anyway. 

He repeated the action, satisfied by another breathy sound of pleasure and a shudder that wracked Dean’s entire body, and then very carefully traced his furled opening with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh,  _ ah, Sammy, Jesus fuck -” _

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… don’t stop…” 

Sam went at it with a little more force this time, making sure he got a lot of saliva in it, and edged his thumbs closer inward, pulling until he could dip his tongue a little further inside. The more Dean squirmed, the more Sam tried to make him, keeping him distracted from what he was actually doing with his inward-creeping thumbs by pushing his tongue deeper and deeper.

“You can come, Dean,” he rumbled against his brother’s skin, “anytime.”

“No, I - God, Sammy - I want to wait -”

“It’s better if you don’t, you’ll be more relaxed. I’m gonna fuck you anyway,” he promised darkly. “And you’ve seen my dick. The more relaxed you are, the easier it’ll be.” 

“Just do it now, Sam,” Dean gasped. “Get that stuff - Oh, God - the oil, you know, and -”

“Yeah, Dean, I know what I’m doing,” Sam chuckled, leaning over the bed to find Rowena’s bottles and making sure he had the oil and not the other one. He was pretty sure he didn’t need any help in that department. He opened the bottle - it had a dropper, like an essential oil, but larger - and dripped some on his fingers, making sure they were fully coated. It was a bit of a juggle to get the lid screwed back on with his slick fingers, but he managed, leaving it nearby, knowing they’d probably need more.

“Okay,” he said to warn Dean, rubbing his slick fingers over his brother’s saliva-wet hole, “I hope that’s not cold.”

“S’fine, Sammy, just do it.”

Sam had to roll his eyes. He could barely fit a second finger in even with the help of the oil, and Dean was ten steps ahead, begging to be fucked. It was his every fantasy, but Dean wasn’t ready, didn’t know what he was asking, although he was about to find out.

“Three fingers and we’ll try it,” he conceded, because even Sam’s willpower had limits, and he was too weak to resist Dean’s begging for long. He withdrew both of his digits and poured a dropper-full of oil directly down his brother’s crease, pushing it inside as far as he could, slowly working in a third finger with the added slickness. 

He was everything Sam had imagined, tight and wet and so fucking warm he wondered if Dean was running a fever. And, God help him, he couldn’t resist when Dean was pushing back, eagerly fucking himself on Sam’s fingers and moaning, begging for more. He found the bottle again, poured some directly on his length, spreading it with one hand while the other searched out Dean’s prostate and stroked until his brother practically went limp.

“Please, Sammy, please!”

“Yeah, alright. Don’t tense up, okay?” He warned as he fit himself against the slick, stretched hole. It still looked too tight, there was no way Dean could take him without feeling it, but he knew his brother had a high tolerance for pain, and they were both desperate. “Just breathe,” Sam added as he slowly pushed in, using his hands to hold Dean as still as possible until he felt the crown slide fully inside that incredible heat. 

“God, Dean -”

“Fuck, Sammy, is that your fist or your cock?” Dean was trembling, sweat beading down his spine and darkening his hairline, and Sam tried to soothe him with strokes of his hands all over his skin, caressing and cupping his firm behind, tracing the defined muscles of his back, making little ‘shhshing’ noises and peppering his neck with kisses. “Why’d you have to be hung like that, huh?”

“You were  _ begging _ ,” Sam said a little petulantly. “And it’s not like I asked to be this way. We could’ve done this the other way -”

“No, abso-fucking-lutely,  _ no _ , I am not gonna violate my baby brother like some kind of creep -” Dean swallowed visibly and Sam could feel him loosening a little, his body acclimating slowly to the intrusion. “C’mon, Sam, gimme more.”

“So if fucking me would make you a creep, what does that make me?” Sam was a little irritated, though he knew Dean and he was pretty sure that line would get crossed eventually, if they continued this after tonight. “I’m not a kid, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you were, you were  _ my _ kid brother and - Can we just not talk about this right fucking  _ now _ ?” He wiggled his hips invitingly, letting more of Sam slip inside him, and let out a deep, loud moan that sounded entirely different from any of the other noises he’d heard from Dean all night.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

“I…” Dean gulped in a breath and moved again, his inner muscles squeezing tight around Sam and then releasing several times in quick succession. “Oh, ahh,  _ Sam _ . Ain’t gonna lie, it hurts, but I like it, Sam, I mean I really -  _ fuck, yeah _ \- I really, really like it.”

Sam was reciting state capitals in his head, followed by all the numbers of pi that he could remember, and then the formula for making witch-killing bullets. Because holy shit, he was not prepared for that, he’d expected Dean to complain, to tense up and have to be talked through it, and his body didn’t know what to do with Dean wriggling and moaning and trying to fuck himself on Sam’s cock.

“Stop moving,” Sam almost shouted, grabbing his brother's hips with both hands. “Stop.”

“Sam?” Dean froze as ordered, and Sam’s mind filed that away for another time, Dean following orders from him without arguing for once in their lives.

“Just give me a minute,” he explained, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. “If you keep going like that, I might need that other potion after all.”

“Oh yeah?” He could hear the stupid grin in Dean’s tone. “Sammy like?”

“Fuck, yes, I do.” Another deep breath, in and out, counting to ten and then an idea struck him that was too hot not to try. “Come on, Dean, fuck yourself on me, tell me how it feels.”

“Feels good,” Dean groaned again, that deep, wounded sound, thrusting back hard, finally taking Sam all the way to the hilt and pausing there, both of them needing another minute to savor it. Sam held himself still with an iron will, face pressed into Dean’s shoulder, forcing himself to take deep breaths and giving little, uncontrollable jerks every time his brother’s heat contracted around him.

“Keep talking,” Sam insisted hoarsely.

“Hurts, too, but damn, it’s like… like a satisfying hurt.” He shifted, knees spreading wider as he pushed himself up on his elbows and rolled his hips carefully. “I dunno how to explain, can’t really think right now. Jus’ fuck me, please, Sammy. Fuck me like I’m that girl you were gonna bring back -”

“Jesus,” Sam hissed, gripping Dean’s hips tight, and gave a few slow, experimental strokes, eyes closed and rolled back in pleasure when his brother moved with him, still so tight and hot. He buried his face in Dean’s skin, forehead pressed to his brother’s shoulder, drawing in lungfuls of his scent and surrounding himself in Dean, wishing he could burrow directly into his body and make them share one skin.

“Sammy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I…” He breathed out slowly, kissed Dean’s skin and lapped the taste of it onto his tongue. He knew, right then, before he even climaxed, that there was no way he could ever let this go. Sam was lost now, intoxicated and addicted, Dean’s scent and taste filling his mouth, his soft groans and grunts of surprised pleasure filling Sam’s ears - and Sam buried deep inside him where he wanted to stay for the rest of their lives.

“Fuck, Dean,  _ fuck -”  _ He didn’t care if he sounded broken and tremulous, if anything, he figured Dean had a right to know just how affected Sam was. “I didn’t think it would be this good.”

“It is though, right? It’s good for you? ‘Cause Sam, I never - I never thought about it, but - I want it, now, I need you bad, like I’m never gonna get enough bad -”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, eagerly responding with his body more than his words. He didn’t think he could piece together sentences anymore, not with Dean moving so willingly underneath him and the press of warmth enveloping him, pulling him in like his brother was greedy for more.

It was better than any girl or boy - or anyone  _ ever _ \- and Sam let himself go with that final permission of Dean’s movement, gaining speed, letting his body do what it wanted, fucking into his brother fast and hard and wild. Dean took everything he had to give and still begged for more, legs splayed as wide as he could get them, effortlessly thrusting back into Sam’s forward strokes, sounds of skin slapping skin and their loud, broken moans filling the room obscenely.

Suddenly, Sam wanted to see his brother’s face, to watch Dean come again and really see it take him over. He pulled out and tugged and pushed until Dean got the idea, but instead of rolling to his back, Dean pushed Sam down and climbed on top of him, his hand wrapped around Sam’s cock.

“This way okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to see you,” Sam said breathlessly, and Dean smiled so fondly it made his heart ache.

“Yeah, well, me too,” he agreed as he straddled Sam, spreading his legs wide and fitting them together effortlessly.

Dean threw his head back and groaned again, the deep, wounded, perfect noise he made when he was really feeling good, and Sam couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and dragging him down while he thrust upwards, completely impaling him in one swift movement.

“God, Sam,” Dean fell forward over him, but he was still moving, building a faster rhythm, driving them both crazy. “Open your eyes,” he ordered, and Sam did, having not even realized he’d closed them in the first place. “Yeah, Sammy, come on. Let me see what I’m doing to you.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” he growled, undone by his brother’s dirty mouth, hands gripping, clenching as tight as he could, slamming in deep and holding him there while he thrust and thrust. He spiraled upwards, unstoppable, sobbing out his brother’s name as he spilled out deep into his clenching warmth, fighting to keep his eyes open as pleasure rushed over him. Dean rode him wildly, until he went stiff and jerked, and Sam was able to watch him, see his mouth drop open and those beloved moss-green eyes go glassy as a rush of warm fluid spread out between them.

Sam wrapped his arms around his brother as they both came down, idly stroking his sweat-slick shoulders and whispering into the crook of his neck, "I love you, Dean, I love you."

Something wet and warm dripped onto his skin. His brother was crying, Sam realized, and he raised a hand to hold his head, stroking his hair and rocking gently, still holding on tightly in the fear that he would pull away. He grunted when Dean's full weight dropped onto him, but didn't complain, just let his brother cry himself out without comment or movement, other than stroking and soothing.

"I want this, Sam," Dean said finally, pushing up onto his hands to look into Sam's wide eyes. "God - Chuck - Whoever - help me, but I do."

Sam shut his eyes, letting out a hefty sigh of relief, and when he opened them again, Dean was still there, watching him carefully. He tilted his head, ran his tongue over his lips, and lifted his mouth up to invite a kiss.

Dean, thankfully, answered. It was soft, but still heated, affectionate but not what you could call sweet. Exactly what Sam wanted and hardly dared hope for.

"Tell me you want it too," Dean demanded when they parted. "Sammy. I need to hear it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I want you. Want this," Sam sighed. "But get off, you're heavy and I want to take a shower."

"Sam, my ass is gonna be raw for days, and you're whining because I'm heavy?"

"Not my fault -"

"If you weren't hung like a fuckin' porn star -"

"Again, not something I exactly asked for." Sam rolled his eyes and shoved Dean hard while rolling to the side, separating their bodies with a grimace at the flood of sticky fluid. "If you hadn't insisted on bottoming when you'd never done it before -"

Dean hit him hard with a pillow, and Sam pretended to be offended, stealing the sheet in retaliation to wrap around him as he made his way to the bathroom, but inwardly he was as happy as he could ever remember being. After the quickest shower he could manage, he emerged into the darkened bedroom and had a moment of panic when he didn’t see Dean in bed, his quick hunter’s eyes darting around for any kind of movement while his heart started to pound in his ears.

“Sam.”

He gasped embarrassingly loudly at the sound of Dean’s voice, and could hear the smug smirk in it as he tracked movement on the other bed, the one that had been Dean’s, closest to the door. 

“Figure’d since we fucked in your bed, might as well sleep in mine where it’s nice and dry.”

“Right,” Sam nodded, trying not to rush over too fast and making a point of stopping to rummage through his bag for clean underwear. “Good idea.”

Dean eyed him warily when he made his way over to him, a slight scowl turning his lips down as he stared directly at what was on his eye level. “What makes you think I want you in my bed?”

Sam rolled his eyes, unwilling to even entertain the possibility that he wouldn’t and too tired for stupid games. “Dean -” 

“Fine, Sammy,” his brother murmured, sounding slightly sheepish as he shifted around to make room. “But only for tonight,” he added, like he had when Sam was still a kid, afraid of the dark and monsters and the usual things big brothers were supposed to protect a kid from.

“Thanks a lot,” Sam answered, with only a slight hint of sarcasm. “I love you too, jerk.”

"Go to sleep, bitch."


End file.
